


In mercy, whisper low

by BlackEyedGirl



Category: The 4400
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2007-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/pseuds/BlackEyedGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom told Jordan that he would have to mend fences with Shawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In mercy, whisper low

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kellygirl

A week and three days after the last promicin death, Jordan was back in the centre he had founded. 

Shawn's hands pushed into his chest hard enough that he could hear the bones crack, over his own yelling. Jordan's vision blurred in and out; in the background he knew Kyle was calling his name, and Shawn's voice was calm. "Just breathe, Jordan."

This had happened once before, and Jordan could remember it now, the blood and the screaming, and the betrayal most of all. This time was a dim hospital room, and Shawn wasn't begging him not to die.

Jordan gasped, and could feel the intruder's death in his body. 

Tom Baldwin asked, "Did it work?"

Shawn said, "We're going to keep him here for a few days to make sure."

Jordan couldn't remember agreeing to that.

* * *

When he woke up, disorientated, the clock told him it was the middle of the night. The door was open, but Jordan knew that if he tried to walk through it, there would be someone to stop him - Shawn wasn't an idiot. He didn't doubt his ability to get out if he needed to, but for the moment he laid his head back down on the pillow. 

Shawn Farrell was lying asleep on the chair by his bedside.

When Jordan moved, Shawn woke up with a start. 

"Shawn."

"Sorry, I..." Shawn said, sounding confused and, for a second, very young. Then he remembered who he was talking to, or how long it had been since they spoke like that. "I wanted to make sure you weren't about to murder us all."

"Well, it wouldn't be me, Shawn, but I can't expect you to make that distinction. I do seem to remember hiring security teams to deal with this kind of problem, or have you abolished everything that I had a hand in?"

"I couldn't rely on anyone else to kill you if it was necessary. You're a hero to all the P-positives, remember? I read it in 'Time Magazine'."

"And could you kill me, Shawn, if you needed to?"

"Yeah, I could."

Even Shawn must have known that was a pretence at conviction. "You're a healer," Jordan told him.

"I _can_ heal. It's not what I am. I've killed people, Jordan." The shadow of the last life he had taken hung in the back of his eyes.

"When you had to," Jordan corrected. "You don't want to do it, you don't ever enjoy it."

"Who said I would enjoy it this time?" Shawn asked. He stood up, and now that Jordan could see him properly, he could see the dark bruises under Shawn's eyes, and how he braced himself up on the back of the chair. 

Shawn left the room; Jordan could hear him speak to the guard as he walked past.

* * *

Tom Baldwin came to see him while he was on a call to the base at Promise City. Kyle was here too, so they knew NTAC hadn't kidnapped him, but Jordan needed to stay informed.

"Collier. Still plotting the demise of the free world?"

"Agent Baldwin. Still planning on arresting me? I think your city's civilian guard might have something to say about that."

Tom looked about three seconds away from punching him, and grinned ruefully instead. "In five days, the quarantine's lifted, and we can call in the army. Until then..."

Jordan nodded. "Until then." 

"As much fun as this is, I came to see you for a reason. Have you seen Shawn?"

Jordan's heart stuttered, once, before he remembered that Tom would not be so calm if his nephew was missing, not simply temporarily misplaced. But Tom's eyes were perceptive, and he caught the flicker before Jordan quashed it. 

"He's fine," Tom reassured, as Jordan had once done for him. 

Kyle's voice preceded him into the room. "Except he's not sleeping." He leant casually against the doorframe. He was a tall boy, but it didn't show most of the time, when he slouched and hid his face. Since the quarantine, he could command the attention of a room when he wanted it, but still stood behind Jordan's shoulder without complaint. He reminded Jordan of his cousin - tragedy had been the making of them both. 

"Not sleeping?" Tom asked.

"The security guards say he was wandering round the facility most of last night. After he left Jordan's room."

Tom's sharp eyes were watching him again, with none of their previous empathy. Jordan knew that despite their almost-truce, Tom would have much less hesitation killing him than Shawn would. Every time they had almost come to true blows had been over one of the boys. The rest of the time they were both just doing their jobs. But now Tom was looking at him.

"I woke up, and he was asleep in that chair," Jordan said, pointing. "We spoke for a short while, and he left. That's all."

"Depends what you said," Tom growled.

"Dad," Kyle said, with a warning he could mean now. "It's two days since the funeral. I don't think Jordan's the problem."

Tom hummed something that might have been reluctant agreement, and fell quiet. 

* * *

In his dreams, it was reversed. His hands were on Shawn's face, and Shawn was begging him to stop. In the back of his mind he was screaming, but the movement died with Shawn, and Jordan the traitor. 

He woke up gasping for air. Shawn was watching him. 

"No rest for the wicked?"

"It's been a difficult few months."

Shawn laughed, and there was bitter knowledge there that had not been before. 

"Why don't you try and get some rest, Shawn."

"You can't just come back here and talk to me like nothing's changed! There's a war going on outside, Jordan, and you made it happen. My mom... my brother... because you couldn't just..."

"Let us be the only special ones? This war is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to what would have happened if we hadn't been sent back. If the promicin movement hadn't brought abilities to other ordinary people, people like us, and let them be a part of the better world we're building. Starting right here in Seattle."

"And the others? Nine thousand and rising dead?"

"Nine thousand and rising with new gifts."

"I know that part too. Because some of them turned up on my doorstep, looking for help. My help, not yours. Not everyone wants to be part of your revolution."

"And you took them in?"

"Of course I did. What else did you want me to do?"

"Because you're a part of this too, Shawn. You and me, and Kyle and your uncle. We all have a part to play, and yours was to lead the centre after what happened. I'm proud of you."

Shawn made an inarticulate sound of distress. "After what _happened_? Don't tell me you're proud of me. Don't talk like you're my Dad and I took over the family business. I watched you _die_. I spoke at your funeral, I _mourned_ for you. I tried to do what you wanted, and then you came back and told me I did it all wrong. So I've stopped, Jordan, okay?"

"Stopped what?"

"Stopped caring about this. About wars, and revolutions, and whether I'm living up to a legacy I didn't even want. I'm gonna keep people safe here, and I'll heal the ones that come to me, but I'm not a soldier. I'm not a leader."

"You just make people well."

"Yeah." Shawn put his head down onto the mattress, and his voice was muffled. 

"That's not true," Jordan said. He rested his hand on Shawn's shoulder, and refused to be insulted by the shudder that ran through the boy's body. "You led our people when there was no one else to do it. People trust you, and for good reason. You're a good man, Shawn. And most of the time, I'm glad you don't see the world the way I do."

"Why?"

"Because someone should be counting the losses."

Shawn's head was pressed tightly against Jordan's body, too hard, head butting the jut of his hip. He curled his left arm up over his head and faced away from Jordan. His breathing was ragged, but smoothing out. Jordan ran his hand over the taut line of Shawn's back, and joined their fingers together at the nape of Shawn's neck. 

The room seemed darker now, and very still. He rubbed circles on Shawn's skin. He didn't say ' _go to sleep, Shawn_ ', because if he spoke, Shawn would realise where he had laid his head, and run away again. Jordan couldn't pick out the moment when he finally fell asleep, or how long they stayed that way, Shawn breathing slow and easy beneath his hand.

There was someone coming down the corridor. Tom opened the door, and if Jordan thought the agent would have killed him before, this confirmed it. Tom was about to speak, when there was a hand over his mouth, and Kyle standing behind him. 

"Shh," Kyle whispered. 

"Kyle, if you think I'm just going to stand back and..." Jordan could just about make out Tom's furious commentary.

"Shawn's asleep," Kyle said.

"I don't care!"

"I do, Dad. He hasn't slept in days. Please? Just... don't yell, okay?"

Tom nodded, looking as if it was against his better judgement. Kyle let him go, and he stalked to the edge of the bed. "This better not be what it looks like."

"What does it look like?" He dared Tom to say it.

"It looks like something you sure as hell shouldn't be doing to my nephew, especially when you're about four days away from dragging us into a war with the rest of the country."

"Us, Tom?"

"Seattle," Tom said, but his voice was not quite sure. His hand went up to the inside pocket of his jacket. Jordan didn't need to see the shape of the syringe to know what he was keeping there. 

"He came to talk to me," Jordan said. "He fell asleep, which he needed to do. Tomorrow, I've no doubt he'll be back to hating me."

Tom leant on the foot of the bed, and rubbed his hand over Shawn's hair. He looked at the bed, and Shawn's fist clenched in the sheets, and said, "He doesn't hate you."


End file.
